


You caught me

by TooManyChoices



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fingerfucking, Multi, OT3, Unconventional Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 21:10:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2323301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was bound to happen, you suppose. Eventually you were going to catch Sherlock and John together. Somehow, it's not as bad as you imagined.<br/>Mary POV.</p><p>Not S3 compliant. Sherlock didn't get shot, Mary isn't an assassin (or if she is, it isn't relevant here)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You caught me

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is in response to a prompt from our FB group.

"John?" Your voice sounds vulnerable and hollow, even to your own ears. Why...Why can't you be strong in the face of this? You knew it was bound to happen eventually. You simply failed to consider that it would happen in your own house, in your own living room, on your own rug.

Your husband makes a strangled noise of dismay and falls backward from his knees onto his arse, looking up at you with something akin to fear. Sherlock's still hard cock falling from his lips as he does so.

"Ahh Mary, do come in." Sherlock's tone is conversational and yet strangely proprietorial, and you are left in no doubt that this entire scene had been engineered by him.

You stand in the doorway take a deep breath and, as you've been trained, objectively analyse the scene.

Sherlock, as you would expect, dominates the small room. Incongruously, he's immaculately dressed from the waist up in a jet black shirt and suit jacket and yet his trousers are pooled around his ankles together with his pale grey briefs. Jutting out from a thatch of dark mahogany hair, his penis stands in stark relief, the rosy head contrasting with the pale skin of his narrow pelvis. His hands are held behind his head, fingers nestled in glossy ringlets and his splayed elbows seem to draw focus to a small cut on his cheek.

Still crouched at his feet, your husband kneels like a supplicant, his eyes flicking between the two of you, seemingly torn as to the next logical step for him to take.

You however, have no such doubts. You stride across the room and strike Sherlock across the face, heedless of the existing cut and a little satisfied to see your action has made the sluggish blood begin to flow again.

"Bastard!" You spit, "How dare you?"

Sherlock touches a tentative finger and assesses it thoughtfully as the bright gleam of fresh blood stains it, "Fair enough I suppose. Given the situation."

You draw back to swing again but suddenly John is next to you, with your wrist in his strong grasp, "Mary. Stop."

"Oh..right. Of course you'd side with him!" You're angry, so angry with them both, "We talked about this. You said you **wouldn't** , you promised me." You turn to Sherlock, "You **both** promised me."

"Mary, calm down." This from Sherlock. His deep, soothing tone not having the desired effect this time.

"I won't be calm. My **home** Sherlock, you two were together in my **home**."

He tries again, there's not a trace of guilt in his voice, he's relying on logic to win this, not realising that this situation is the last place logic should come into play, "To be fair, it IS John's home too."

You throw your hands in the air in frustration. You've half a mind to simply walk back out the door, but that would leave them alone again and you won't give them the satisfaction.

John has moved to stand between you and Sherlock, he's always been the bridge between the three of you. You think of course it could never be any other way, after all he was the one you both loved first. "Mary....love....Please."

"Please what, John? Please forgive you for sucking off Sherlock in our lounge? Please forgive you for not considering your wife might walk in on you? Please **what**?"

John places his hands gently at your waist, you are of a similar enough height that his eyes are staring straight into yours. There's no guile, no deception there, just wholehearted love undiminished since the day you pledged your lives to each other. You desperately want to forgive him.

"Please.....forgive us....for not waiting for you to get home."

And there it is....the right words. Where Sherlock may be the genius, and you are the tactician, John is the healer of your unconventional three way relationship. He's seen your anger and while Sherlock may have deduced the degree of it, John has diagnosed the cause. He's seen your vulnerability and understands why there is an unbreakable rule....it must always be the three of you....always.

You whisper, "Quite right. Bad boys for not waiting. I'm very cross."

Sherlock snorts over John's shoulder, "I knew you'd be home soon, we were just getting a head start. Priming the engine, if you will."

"Bollocks Sherlock, you were just impatient." You smile at him, no real sting in your words.

John laughs and looks back over his shoulder, "She always knows when you're lying. When will you learn that."

Sherlock rolls his eyes and moves around you both to stand behind you. You can feel his unwilted erection pressing into the small of your back. "Nevertheless, my engine remains primed. Can we please agree that we're all terribly sorry and move this to the bedroom?"

You grind back against him and delight in the startled groan the move elicits, "Ever the smooth seducer, Sherlock. You certainly know how to sweet-talk a girl."

"Oh for God's sake. Mary...light of our lives and most beautiful wife of John Watson, would you be amenable to a Springtime walk in the general direction of your master bedroom so that either he...or I...or if necessary to gain your forgiveness, both...can fuck you into the mattress.... _PLEASE_."

You and John laugh as the remaining tension is broken. Sherlock's 'please' squeezed almost through gritted teeth is as close to an apology as you'll ever get and is testament to his growing desperation. You smile and take them both by the hand, leading them to the king-size bed you and John have managed to fit, somehow, in the less than spacious master bedroom. What you've sacrificed in floor space, you've more than gained in practicality. With Sherlock spending virtually every night here since the wedding, it was a bigger bed or risk bruised kidneys and worse from the from his cavalier bed-hogging ways.

After John pulls the curtains closed, _can't have the neighbours watching the show,_ the two of them begin a synchronised assault on your clothes, delighting as each inch of skin is revealed and worshipped.

If you were pressed to explain it, you think it's the way they work together that finally convinced you to propose bringing Sherlock into your intimate lives. Sure, that dark hair and pale skin, together with the acerbic attitude had you melting on the first night you met, but it was the combination of them together that forced your hand. Increasingly, you found yourself imagining two sets of hands, two sets of lips and when you saw your husband embrace Sherlock at your wedding, it was all you could do to smother a groan as your mind was flooded with images of three bodies tanged together in sheets. It was inevitable.

You hear more than see John shedding his jeans and the feel of Sherlock's now bare chest against your back tells you his jacket and shirt have gone and there's the feel of teeth nipping at your shoulders, _Sherlock has always loved your shoulders_ , while John captures your mouth with his.

The three of you tumble onto the bed. John still at your front, his muscular frame slotting against yours as if carved to fit there. He pauses to push a wisp of your hair back behind your ear before nuzzling into your neck and setting up residence there. Sherlock meanwhile, has blissfully spooned up behind you, tucking you against his groin as he ruts gently between your arse cheeks. He's curled a long arm between you and John and is smoothing his long violinists fingers across the skin of your breast, barely teasing the nipple on each pass.

You groan and don't know whether to press backward against Sherlock or forward toward John. A third option is to simply lay there hedonistically and let them use you as they wish. They've done that before and as much as you find the idea appealing, you're in the mood to participate more actively. Besides....you want to see your boys enjoy each other as well.

"John..." you manage to articulate between gasps, "....John. What you were doing when I came home. I want to see that again."

Sherlock still behind you briefly before regaining his rhythm. _Good..you've surprised him_. John lifts his head, "Really? I'm sure we're happy to make this all abut you tonight." You feel a shaggy head nod at your ear as he agrees.

You catch John's eyes, "I'm sure. To be honest, it was bloody hot seeing you do that to him." You reach down and curl your fingers around your husbands shaft, giving it a firm stroke, "Now do as you're told."

John looks beyond your face to where you know Sherlock is nestled behind you, "You heard the lady. Come here genius."  
Sherlock is quick to comply, He untangles himself from you to lay back on the bed. John meanwhile, scoots across so his head is level with Sherlock crotch, nestling between Sherlock's spread legs and he looks up at the both of you, as you sprawl across Sherlock's chest and begin to lap at his pebbled nipples.

"Christ, look at the two of you. Like some sort of Roman orgy and all for me." he smooths a slightly calloused hand along your thigh and you shudder at the feeling, "Now Sherlock, I'm going to be a bit busy down here. I'm trusting you to look after my wife."

Sherlock's breath hitches as you nibble slightly too hard on a sensitive nipple, "I'll do my best but I can't guarantee my concentration," he gasps again under your unrelenting onslaught, "..given the circumstances."

John chuckles delightedly and you see his head dip toward Sherlock's crotch and feel the detective arch up in response. You love it when the two of you do this to Sherlock. So cool and controlled, you strip his defences down one by one and leave him a shaking, whimpering mess. You know people who would pay good money to see Sherlock Holmes in such a state. But you're not willing to share.

Sherlock however, hasn't forgotten his commitment and his position is just right to allow his dominant hand to roam and you feel first a tickle and then a graceful slide as nimble fingers part your outer lips and slip against warm, wet skin. He's always been good at this, as if somewhere in his voluminous mind palace he's stored away the exact look and feel of your most secret places so he can navigate by touch alone. You wriggle against him as he circles your clit in gentle, toying touches, seemingly determined to tease rather than railroad you to ecstasy.

John must have done something particularly spectacular with his mouth as Sherlock moans and his fingers still momentarily before resuming. You know John's more than capable of keeping your detective on the edge for an extraordinary amount of time, and you wonder if tonight he's planning a marathon or a sprint as you move your head from Sherlock's chest and nibble a path to his glorious neck, licking along his collar-bone on the way.

Your new location gives you just enough reach to enable a quick scrabble in the bedside drawer, capturing the tube of lube and tossing it down the bed to your husband. Sherlock sees the move and he looks at you, pupils blown wide and his mouth open. He knows what that tube means and as you hear the sharp click of the lid, you know John is already on the case.

You smile lovingly at Sherlock and capture his lips, revelling in the long gasp of pleasure as John circles Sherlock's entrance with a finger before gently easing it inside. As John's head resumes it's lurid dance over Sherlock's crotch, his finger now keeps pace within.

This change has had the desired effect on Sherlock. He's no longer playing with you, he's methodically stroking you in time with the friction on his cock. His touch is strong and sure and he knows what you need so well. You relax into the rhythmic motion and like waves on a beach, each repetition pushes you a little further, a little higher and erodes your control just a little more.  
John must be hitting Sherlock's prostate on every thrust now as Sherlock's sense of urgency is building and your own pleasure is heightened by knowing he's close. John's hand on your arse is your shared signal that Sherlock's almost there and you give yourself over to the moment as Sherlock spasm's roughly and his baritone cry echoes in the room. A sound of such relief and surrender that you find yourself arching against him and adding your own scream of joy.

John is crawling up the bed even as you settle. Sherlock is laying boneless beside you and John muscles his way into the gap between your bodies.

"God that was unbelievable, both of you....like sex on a bloody plate. Look at you both." he mutters.

He's clearly still wired and looking down, you see him still erect. His cock, slightly shorter, but certainly broader than Sherlock's, a rich deep red amongst his dark blonde curls.

You mumble, "I can't believe you lasted...." It's not unknown for one of your men to be unable to stand the tension in the room and cum entirely untouched during proceedings and to see your husband still at attention is a glorious surprise, "....God John....come here."

You gather him to you and roll him onto his back to lay beside a still post-orgasmic Sherlock. Running your hands down his chest, you lever yourself up and straddle his hips. You're still a little sensitive from your own orgasm, but the endorphins coursing through your body are telling you there's nothing you want more than to feel this man inside you.

He looks up at you wonderingly as you lower yourself onto him, luxuriating in the feel of him stretching muscles so recently clutched in ecstasy. You're warm, and wet and he feels glorious as the two of you slot together.

Sherlock is stirring and has rolled to look at you both with heavy-lidded eyes. He's beautiful like this, but at the moment, you only have eyes for John as you lift from your knees and sink back down, his groan sending shivers through you.

He lifts hands to cup your breasts, rubbing thumbs over the sensitive nipples and you arch against him, the movement adding new pressure and he thrusts under you. Sherlock rolls to begin laying gentle kisses on the scar webbing across your husband's shoulder. It's a shockingly intimate gesture and you know Sherlock is silently thanking it both for sparing his life and bringing him to them. Only a handful of people have seen that scar, and only two are permitted to touch it in this way.

John tries to take things slow, but he can't. He's held back so long and now his resistance is gone. You feed off his need and match his pace, thrust for thrust. In another place, at another time, he might be embarrassed at how desperate he's become, but not tonight. There is no shame between the three of you and you give him what he needs, taking your own pleasure in return. This position never fails to work for you and tonight is no exception as you almost beat him to the finish line, following only moments after you feel him fill you. You collapse against his chest as you feel Sherlock's strong fingers run gentling trails down your back.

You feel the taller man shift from the bed, only to have him return with glasses of water and a bowl of popcorn. This is the other reason you love these men.....after a short nap, you'll spend the remainder of the evening tucked up in bed together watching Doctor Who reruns or James Bond movies.

Life doesn't get any sweeter.


End file.
